Of Beating, Bleeding, and Broken Hearts
by Ninjallerina
Summary: A second season of sorts. Investigates the group post Deep Dark. Specifically focuses on separation of the group and the subsequent war against the newly coporeal Astoroth. May be a bit darker in tone than the series. Rating may change. Comments welcome.
1. Prologue

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I did not create Henry, Vick, Mike, or Coreen. Tanya Huff did and I envy her. I don't know who currently owns the rights to them, but suffice it to say, it's not me.

I really just wanted to claim this title. Hopefully, this fic will be the second season that looks like will never come to pass.

I promise lots of Vicki, Mike, Coreen, and (of course) Henry (how could I not?) along with the appearance of some new faces.

This is my first fic, and I'm hoping to get used to the posting process soon (hence the note). Please forgive and alert me to formatting faux pas so that I may fix them in the future.

Ninjallerina

* * *

**Prologue**

The triumvirate had shattered.

Though those involved in it would not have been pretentious enough to call it that, if not for their combined efforts the earth would have fallen a year ago. Brought together by necessity and held together by something stronger, the three, with the aid of a fourth, fought the forces of darkness. They did a through job of defeating these threats, that is, until an emissary of darkness breached their defenses. The shadow compromised their inner circle, driving them apart and destroying their cohesion.

It was then the triumvirate shattered and scattered, leaving each of the members to rebuild their lives and unlife as the case may be. Too busy wallowing in their own sorrows, they did not see the challenges facing them. Nor could they possibly have comprehended the chain of events that had been set in motion.

All the while, the shadow given human form traipsed across the mortal plane.

And so our story begins…


	2. Chapter 1: Hollow Meal

**Chapter 1: Hollow Meal**

* * *

Henry Fitzroy strode among the patrons of the club like a god among men. The crowd parted easily for him as he made his way to his target. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but more importantly, she was alone. Single, but not for long.

He oozed charisma from every plane of his perfectly proportioned body as he came up behind her. Artistic fingers outstretched, he plucked her free hand from its perch on the bar. She turned to see who was so brazen as to touch her before introducing themself. Her grey eyes met alluring hazel ones. It took a moment for her to process the spectacle before her.

Indeed, Henry Fitzroy was quite a sight, the sort of being one would expect a child of the Sirens to be. A wreath of rippling chestnut hair loosely framed the perfectly formed face. His hazel eyes danced wickedly, promising all sorts of things, some the woman couldn't begin to discern. A winsome, yet curiously predatory, smile hung from his lips. Mystery clung to him like a lover. All in all, he was irresistible. He knew it too.

"Do you dance?" he asked in a strangely carrying voice.

Sharon, for that was her name, was a woman wise in the ways of men. Even so she stood no chance against more than four hundred years he had spent perfecting the art of seduction. He stood before her, perfection incarnate. She smiled coyly, momentarily taken aback and not entirely familiar with the feeling. Sharon rose from the chair and spun gracefully into his arms, her half finished drinks forgotten. They meandered to the dance floor, somehow managing to carve out a niche between other dancing couples.

There they stayed for several songs, rippling their way through dance moves. They rocked and swayed in time to the music. The night progressed at a relaxed pace: Henry was interested in dining, not eating. Eventually even his patience came to an end. He encircled one arm around her slinkily clad waist and pulled her even closer.

"Let's go somewhere more private, shall we?" he spoke in her ear. In response Sharon leaned back into him. He raised her hand to his lips and started planting kisses. Henry's practiced lips trailed up her slender arms. In between kisses, he led her to the exit with the expert ease of leading a dance partner. She practically purred in his arms. Never let it be said that Henry was a selfish lover. He'd make sure she'd die happy.

They were almost to the door when a young blonde entered. How she had gotten past the bouncer, Henry had no idea. The blonde gave him a startled, almost knowing, look and quickly moved on. Even complicated by the wall-shaking racket that counted as music in this decade, Henry could hear her heart take off racing. That in itself wasn't unusual: Henry had ignited many hearts in his time. The sharp scent of fear that was released simultaneously was an anomaly, as was the deeper scent she carried. Interesting, the experiences a new territory brought with it. He'd look into it later, for now it was time to eat.

Sharon had noticed nothing: the exchange had taken all of a fraction of a second. Another two and they were out the door and on their way to Henry's newest abode.

It was a few blocks apart from the club, but in the balmy fall weather the walk was not at all unpleasant. Henry passed through the door to the lobby with no complication. The deskman barely looked up from his Sudoku as Henry crossed the lobby. Honestly, Henry had no idea why he even paid what he did for such lacking service. It did have its occasional advantages though. That brief glance wouldn't be enough for the deskman to remember Sharon. Henry smiled. Sometimes neglect had its perks. He put his key in the slot next to the penthouse button and twisted.

Sharon sidled up to him, pressing him up against the rail. Women had certainly changed in the last few hundred years. He leaned over and kissed her full on the lips, making the transition from elevator to bedroom a seamless affair. Too far gone was she to realize that the closing door destroyed any minute chance of escape she had.

The Orientally furnished penthouse was a far cry from his home in Toronto, an entirely conscious decision of course. Sharon, lost to passion, noticed nothing of the décor. Henry made it his business to notice everything: it wouldn't do to have someone ambush him in his own stronghold. Everything was in order, all objects in their proper place, no foreign scents, no reek of magic.

Though it was his, the penthouse still felt foreign to him. Henry silently admonished himself. It was for the greater good. Familiar furnishings would have only amplified his discomfort. Over the last year, a certain detective's frequent presence had irrevocably linked her everything he kept in his Toronto penthouse. He had hoped a change of environment, both in territory and surroundings, would put Vicki far from his mind.

As he bit into Sharon, he had a feeling that thinking of Vicki twenty five hundred miles away from where they had last talked wasn't a good indication of progress. It seemed that not only could he not protect her from herself but he could not protect himself from the emotions he still harbored for her.

Sensing the flow of lifeblood ebb, Henry detached himself, feeling bloated. Humans contained so much blood. It was as he watched Sharon draw her last contented breath on his bed, and part of him wondered if she was a Vicki to someone else, that he knew that it was a lost cause. The kill, his first feed kill since meeting Vicki, hadn't eased the craving that had been growing since their last encounter with Astoroth. He had hoped that the emptiness would have been filled with blood. Apparently that was too much to ask. He was suddenly glad the Vicki wasn't there to see him like this.

Everything reminded him of her. From the way the light played on the ashen blonde hair of the corpse on his bed, to the memory of the near familiarity of the young blonde in the club there was no way to escape Vicki's pull on him. Henry might not have been able to save Vicki from herself, but he would give anything to be able to. Vicki was Vicki—she wouldn't let him. He'd be a fool to believe otherwise and Henry Fitzroy was no fool.

He'd taken precautions to protect her from as much of the supernatural as he could. Henry had seen to it that Augustus include a list of off-limit human clause in the Toronto territory contract. Vicki, Correen, and Rajani were on the list. Even Celuci had wormed his way on in. Henry told himself that Mike was the logical choice to protect her—he'd take care of her the best he could if only out of human decency. Another, deeper part of Henry knew that if the new owner of the Toronto territory, whoever it was, killed Mike, Vicki would never forgive him. Though he didn't think he'd ever see her again, the thought of Vicki hating his memory was altogether unpleasant.

He sighed. The sun was coming up. He'd deal with the body in the evening. For now, he rolled the bloodless corpse off and under his bed, just in case he had any unexpected visitors. Slipping out of the remainder of his sharp clothes, he settled into the newly vacated bed just as the sun rose.


	3. Chapter 2: Rabbit Hole to Hell

**Ninjallerina's Notes:**

First off, reviews.

I would like to thank all of you that have read and reviewed thus far. I value your thoughts and concerns.

It is amazing to see the international readership so high! Please don't hesitate to review in whatever language is most comfortable for you: I realize that English may be a second (or third) language for many of you. I'm somewhat fluent in French, have a basic understanding of Spanish and Italian, and am starting to be able to get by in Russian and Polish. Honestly, it won't kill me to learn other languages, so don't let that stop you from reviewing!

Response to reviews:

In concerns to Henry: I could hear the collective gasp when Henry killed Sharon. Surely our favorite, sexy vampire couldn't have _murdered_ someone?

Well, yes. As Henry himself tells Mike: "Eventually, someone has to die." I don't remember what episode that comes from, but it serves as a great reminder that as fabulously dreamy as Henry is, and as tender as he is to Vicky, he is still a being with the power to kill. Couple that state of being with an emotional upheaval and the restraints against killing are lowered. There will be more on this later and I don't want to spoil it.

**This chapter contains profanity and oblique references to things that if you don't pick up on, it shouldn't bother you. Read at your own peril.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Rabbit Hole to Hell**

* * *

Victoria Nelson opened the shop door, entered, and promptly ended up in a heap. She would have laughed at herself had things of this nature not become a frequent occurrence as of late. As it was, she winced as the floor contacted one of her preexisting bruises. Getting to her feet as quickly as she could manage, Vicki was able to discern the sign reading "Watch Your Step". Processing the information was difficult: her field of vision was limited to a circle allowing her to read only two or three characters at a time.

"Good thing your middle name isn't Grace," Vicki grumbled to herself.

Her retinitis pigmentosa, the disease that had forced her to resign from the Homicide Division, was becoming a bigger liability now. On the bad days, which were coming more frequently, she could barely read. Her depth perception was shot to hell.

Too proud to admit this to clients or even Coreen, she certainly had not gone and registered as legally blind. As a result, she forced herself to operate in as normal a manner as possible. Most of the time she ended up staggering around, bumping into things.

Life as a private investigator became exponentially more difficult after two thirds of her field team deserted her. Their sudden exodus marked the reason why she was here: she was the only one left in the agency experienced in fieldwork. As Vicki bumped into a display of canned produce, she decided this was a sad commentary.

Their absence highlighted just how much she depended on them for support, both as back-up and as emotional balances. Tack on her rapidly advancing vision loss that hampered her in the simplest tasks and made detective work near impossible and her life would have been considered bad.

Bad was the level of misfortune that could be managed with a hearty order of Chinese, chased with a couple beers in the company of close friends. At least it could have been had she and Mike still been on speaking terms. Unfortunately, Mike was one third of her team that upped and left. Since then, he had not answered her calls or returned her voicemails. Chinese and beer had been their ritual. The one time she tried it with Coreen, it had only accentuated her loss, leading her to believe that the healing properties of the meal was less to do with the meal itself and more to do with the company.

For all their history, all the cases they'd closed together, all the times they'd woken up together, it was like none of that had happened. She had not heard a peep from him in the last months. That told her one of two things: 1) he hated her and never wanted to speak to her again or 2) he was trying to distance himself from her while the investigation was being conducted.

It was only the fact she knew he was alive via the newspapers covering his internal investigation that kept her from worrying that Henry had somehow gone round the bend and decided to eliminate his rival.

_Stop thinking like that, Victoria_, she ordered herself. _You're being ridiculous. You need to sleep more_.

Sleep had not come easily to her since Astoroth burst into the mortal world. When she did manage it, it was only in short, nightmare filled bursts. Visions of a demon ruled earth, dead Mike, burning Henry, demon Coreen, and less interpretable scenes played out before her sleeping mind, making any sort of rest impossible. Much more disturbing were the terrors in which Vicki found herself throned next to Astoroth, both of them seated atop a mountain of skulls. So vivid were these dreams that they left her retching upon awakening, the scent of rotting corpses still strong in her nostrils. In many respects these dreams were more real to Vicki than her waking hours. She experienced them in a full field of vision, completely overwhelming the pinpricks of life she saw through her waking eyes.

Though there were very few people she would confide this in, she felt like she was sinking down a bottomless well. Each day the circle of daylight became a little farther away, a little smaller. She did not know how long it would be until she went utterly blind: neither did her optometrist. Vicki had started popping Vitamin A caplets like nobody's businesses. It would not reverse her condition, but she hoped it would slow it down. She'd be damned if she'd let it get her without a fight.

"You alright, miss?" asked someone outside her field of vision.

"Yeah, I just missed the step," she said truthfully. Internally she glowed. It had been years since anyone had called her miss. Hanging out with a vampire that had the body of a twenty-something had made her feel perpetually old. This was a welcome change, even if her client did think the shop owner, possibly the person who had just addressed her, was having an affair with his wife.

_Focus Victoria: case first, flattery later_, she reprimanded herself.

Vicki managed to focus on the man who had spoken to her. He was not the man in the photo her client had provided. Gingerly, she made her way to the counter.

"Are you sure you're alright, miss?" he asked again. She must have been in thought longer that she had realized. Vicki slipped back into cop persona, making her voice clipped and official. It was such a part of her that the man did not even ask to see her badge.

"Yes," she pulled out the photo of the man her client suspected, "I was wondering if you could tell me if you recognize him."

He glanced at it, then smiled.

"Sure do, that's Ralph. Owns the place, just got off," he checked the clock, "forty minutes ago. Is he in trouble?"

"Depends. Forty minutes?"

"Yes ma'am." Dammit, there was that age thing again. Why did respect have to be linked to age?

"How long was his shift?"

"Six hours."

"Does he normally work that?"

"Yeah, he's a good guy. Doesn't duck out of real work just 'cause he's the owner. Works five, sometimes six days a week, just as much as the rest of us."

"Did he work yesterday?"

"Yeah. Same hours. We had the same shift."

"No, I guess not then. We had a report of a green Acura licensed to him running a red yesterday early in the afternoon. I guess it couldn't have been him driving. Oh, well. Thank you for your help."

"Anytime."

Vicki cautiously left the store and managed not to inflict harm upon any more displays. Internally she cringed at her heavy handed investigation. Any other time, she would have discreetly tailed the husband, but with her eyesight it would either be suicide or murder to drive. Well, she could report in that the suspected seducer had an alibi for the most recent supposed tryst. Somewhat satisfied, she made her way back to her agency.

At least she was making progress on this one.

Most of her cases were not going nearly as well. Her agency was floundering, though not for a lack of clients. On the contrary, she was inundated with cases, both supernatural and mundane. The volume was just too much for one person to investigate. Coreen turned away more and more "weird" cases each day. Gravitating to Vicki like a lodestone, they were particularly baneful now that half of her occult encyclopedia and back-up had walked off. Vicki, for all of her feistiness, was simply one woman, and a shattered one at that. In her compromised state, there just was not enough of her to close as many cases as necessary. Vicki itched to do something about them, but she wasn't stupid. She knew her limits, even if she hated to admit she had them.

Thank God Coreen was still around to do paperwork. Vicki supposed saving Coreen's life (again) had made some sort of unbreakable bond between them. Too bad it hadn't worked with Mike or Henry. Vicki desperately wanted to give her a raise to compensate for the added workload of late. Cleaning up Vicki's messes certainly had not been in their contract. Based on the current trend the agency was following, they would both be out of jobs by the end of the month.

Part of Vicki, the part haunted by perpetual nightmares, didn't really care. There were bigger things to consider than employment. The demon marks that had been branded into her skin during her first real encounter with the supernatural kept acting up. They throbbed all the time, a constant reminder that Astoroth the demon was traipsing around in a human body doing who knows what. It was infuriating to know what was out there but still be unable to _do_ anything about it.

In short, her life, if not already there, was going to hell.

* * *

Fact Check: My information on Canadian drinking laws says that the legal age is 18, and as Coreen looks at least 20 to me, I assume she's legal. Knowledgeable readers, please correct me if I am mistaken.

I wrote most of this last week, but couldn't get it to read right. I've spent the last week trying to make it passable. I gave up, becuase this is the bump in the road that is holding up some awesome future chapters. Expect this chapter to be rewritten and reposted sometime in the future.

The overabundence of exposition is mostly me trying to bring those new to Blood Ties (there are a few) up to speed with what has gone on.


	4. Chapter 3: A Severing of Ties

**Ninjallerina's Note:**

Hopefully this chapter will make up for the last one. Thank you for sticking with me.

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Severing of Ties**

* * *

To say unemployment sucked was an understatement. Technically, Mike Celluci was not unemployed, simply suspended, pending investigation, but technically didn't pay the bills or the mortgage. It was only a matter of time before his dismissal was made official. Few clean professions would hire a dismissed cop and he had made too many enemies as a cop to be safe being dirty. This left him with the question: where would he go? It was inevitable that they would find him guilty of all the infractions they accused him of. He was. He had left a task force meeting without permission to help save Coreen from Astoroth. He had shared crime scene information with non-police personnel, i.e. Vicki, Henry, and Coreen, on multiple occasions. He had allowed non-police personnel to enter crime scenes and examine evidence. He was guilty of it all.

Try as he might, Mike was at a loss to come up with a reasonable explanation to explain not only his unauthorized disappearance from the kidnapping task force, but all of his disappearances prior to that. Frankly, Mike found that he didn't care much. Over the past year, he had grown disillusioned with the bureaucratic crap he had to put up with—all of the cover-ups, the dirty secrets that had to be kept, the way he was treated for his association with Vicki. In that moment he almost understood her decision to leave the force. Perhaps it had not been her reluctance for a desk job, but her foresight to the direction the force was headed. Maybe she had suspected all along.

"Celluci!"

Mike gave a start and looked around. Everyone seated at the conference table stared at him. He had obviously missed the question put before him. What was it they asked? He hated meetings, almost as much as he hated paperwork. Hearings, like this one, were worst of all.

_Give me a crime scene any day_, he thought to himself with an internal grin.

The only face not openly hostile belonged to Kate. She was no Vicki, even though that was who she had replaced, but, under the circumstances, she and Mike had always gotten along fairly well. She covered for him on many of the occasions that Vicki's strange cases had called him away from work. In the course of the internal investigation directed at him, Kate had done her best to endorse him, pointing out that it was his tip that had led to the location of the kidnapping victim.

Though Mike was grateful for the attempt, he wished she had just kept her mouth shut. She was endangering herself to Crowley's wrath by siding with Mike, just as Mike himself had put his neck on the block when he sided with Vicki. She was still naive and idealistic about the way the office worked, while Mike was disillusioned and war weary. Kate just could not understand that Mike simply could not reveal his source. After all, even if the truth did not endanger Vicki and Henry, how many of them would believe that his lead came from a vampire who extracted the memories implanted by a dimension crossing demon?

She looked at him meaningfully, as if willing her thoughts into his own.

_Wouldn't that be perfect if she turned out to be telepathic?_ he mused sardonically. There was little that would surprise Mike these days. Henry had introduced Vicki to the magical side of the world. Whether or not Mike liked it, the shrinking bond between Mike and Vicki had yanked him into that world as well.

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?" he asked evenly.

The chief, seated next Crowley, Mike's supervisor who had brought the charges against him, scowled at him, as if Mike was purposely being difficult. Mike thought there might have been a triumphant gleam in Crowley's eyes. He'd never harbored hatred for his supervisor before, but sitting there, watching her smirk at his precarious predicament, the emotion overtook him. The fact that the precinct chief was present at all hinted at the gravity of the meeting, and Crowley knew it. Mike wondered if this was all part of her personal grudge against Vicki, her way of cleaning up the loose ends.

This was the last phase of the investigation: Mike's last chance to provide a compelling reason that he should not be disgracefully fired. If he botched this, there was no going back.

How much was his job worth? Was it worth the indignity of working beneath someone who had once helped to fix a trial? Was it worth putting blinders on and going about his working life pretending the world he'd been dropped in did not exist?

Mike had saved two lives that night, both the girl's and Coreen's. He had saved lives by operating outside of police procedure. If there were consequences to be paid for that, Mike would willingly do so.

"What explanation can you offer for your behavior?" the old man intoned.

Was there any explanation that they would be satisfied with? He looked around the table. Every eye he met returned the same blank stare. Kate would not even meet his eyes. No. They already had decided their verdict.

Mike stood, his golden, cropped hair highlighted by the fluorescent lights.

"I have nothing to say. Nothing I say can change your minds," he orated.

"It is decided then," announced the chief. "Michael Ludo Celluci, you are hereby dismissed dishonorably from the Toronto Police Department on the grounds of insubordination, abandoning your post in the midst of an ongoing investigation, distributing knowledge of certain crimes with unauthorized persons, and allowing unauthorized persons on the scene of crimes without due reason. All of the privileges and obligations of the office are revoked from you, effective immediately."

He handed Mike the document.

"This was signed yesterday!" gasped Mike. "You had already made up your minds!"

Mike could not explain how he knew that something in the room shifted, but the realization was instinctual. The shift was unnatural and caused Mike's hair to stand on end. No one else seemed to perceive the change.

"Times are changing," intoned the chief. Crowley nodded. "This is the age that will change humanity. Anything is possible, but the first step is to exile those who break the laws of man."

"You've broken about a dozen with this stunt!" cried Mike passionately, waving the dismissal order around. There was something off here. The door was behind him. He could reach in two, maybe three, strides.

When the old chief spoke again, his voice was different, inhuman.

"You had your chance, Mike, and you let it pass you by for a woman who scorned you! Foolish human."

"Astoroth!"

"None other," said the chief's body standing up and taking a bow.

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**Ninjallerina's Cultural Note**: I actually have no idea how the police hierarchy, or police dismissals of Canada work, so this may not be (read probably isn't) accurate (but it makes for a good story). If anyone knows and feels like sharing, either include it in a review or drop me a line at . It would be much appreciated.

Thanks.

Ninjallerina


	5. Chapter 4: Tears of the Past

**Ninjallerina's Notes:**

Again, thank you to those who have reviewed. It is greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 4: Tears of the Past**

* * *

Coreen Fennel was alive, but at the moment didn't feel like it. Sitting at the computer for eight hours of nonstop comparison of credit card charges, cell phones records, and check trails was almost enough to make her head explode. Nothing in the client's wife's spending patterns indicated a newly fledged affair. The trends were consistent with the five years worth of records held on file. If there was an affair going on, it was either a longstanding one or conducted with extraordinary caution. Regardless, Coreen had done all she could for the case today.

The chair let out a squeak as Coreen rose from it, yawning. Papertrails were just so boring…

Not that boring was bad. Boring was a welcome change from being possessed by demons, eaten by insects, or being sucked into a demon dimension for some fiendish wedding. While the Goth found each of those things interesting in theory, their practical applications were far more terrifying than glamorous. Not that all of her occult dealings had been negative…Henry was definitely a positive. Coreen smiled despite herself. He was a large part of the reason she had signed up to be Vicki's assistant. She just wished that all of the supernatural could be as darkly glamorous as he was.

From her renewed investigations into demons, specifically Astoroth, she had gathered that there were things about the occult that even she did not want to know more about. Still, with Henry gone, and Vicki's vision rapidly deteriorating, Coreen knew she was their best bet to find something to use against Astoroth. Mike had never been much help in the supernatural department. Pulling her most recent addition to her collection from the shelf, Coreen sat back down in the chair and proceed to read.

Her eyes, however, had no such intention. They spasmed, then teared up, clearly protesting the strain inflicted by the monitor-filled hours. Coreen let out a groan as she found herself rubbing at her mutinous eyes in a very Vicki-like manner. Bloody tears coated her fingertips, not worrying her too much. They had become a regular occurrence ever since her exorcism. Astoroth's presence within her had left its mark, just as his brands marked Vicki. Coreen hoped that crying blood was not a permanent side-effect of demon possession.

No doubt her Goth friends would have found it an enviable display, but they could not possibly comprehend the severity of the situation. Though they thought themselves well educated in the ways of the dark, they were dramatically unprepared for its reality, just as Coreen herself had before being plunged into its depths.

This was all irrelevant. Coreen had not ventured back to her nightlife, not seen any of her friends from the old days in a long time now. She was darker than any of her Goth friends now, sworn to silence and unwilling to go back and forget all she had seen. It had changed her, changed them all.

The friends who would have understood had scattered. Only Vicki remained.

It never ceased to amaze Coreen how Vicki had gone from having one too many men in her life to having none in the span of a few short minutes. There were some times still, especially when Vicki was stymied on a case, that Coreen would almost suggest calling one man or the other. Then she would remember that neither was speaking to her or Vicki.

She couldn't blame Mike. After all it was because of her that he was almost certainly going to lose his job. But Henry? Henry could have at least called her. Coreen missed him, not only for herself, but for the toll his absence took on Vicki.

That was the past. For all intents and purposes it was unchangeable, no matter what some of her tomes' claimed to the contrary. Coreen hoped she would be able to find some solution to the Astoroth problem that did not involve time travel. There was just too much that could go wrong. Settling down once more, she forced herself to read. She would just have to make do with her own resourcefulness, that and the stack of demonology texts currently enroute. Ebay could be so helpful.

Hopefully they would arrive before too much longer—Coreen had a nasty feeling that Astoroth was not wasting any time initiating whatever plans he had in mind.

**Ninjallerina's Notes:** This is (to my knowledge) the last chapter of exposition. Now that we are caught up with what our favorite characters have been up to...let the plot take flight!


	6. Chapter 5: Tables Turn

**Ninjallerina's Notes:**

No, I haven't died. Sorry for the long delay with which this finds you. My writing life has met a calamity of catastrophes as of late. Not only has this chapter been giving me trouble (five rewrites and revisions later it is still not where I want it) but I have found that the upcoming chapters I wrote do not mesh chronologically with each other. Back to the drawing board. I will have to set aside a day to rewatch a couple key episodes so I do not biff the cannon. Be prepared for some obscure characters to enter in a few chapters.

In the meantime I have a few Dark Knight fics that spontaneously formed, as did a Sweeney Todd oneshot. Hopefully those will be polished and up by next week. That being said, it is highly likely that there will be another long delay between Chapter 5 and Chapter 6. Consider this fair warning.

**Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to either Blood Ties or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The characters and their respective corperate behemoths belong to (I think) Tanya Huff and Joss Wheaton respectively. Lifetime and Fox may own some rights as well. If I owned any part of them, these shows would still be airing. Do not sue me. **

That being said: here is a long (by my standards) chapter of Henry goodness to tide you over. Enjoy!

~Ninjallerina

* * *

**Chapter 5: Tables Turn**

* * *

Henry awoke to the scent of Sharon's corpse. It would have to go. Swinging out of bed, he dressed. Despite not having killed at a feed for quite some time, he hefted the corpse without spilling a drop of remaining blood. He had centuries of practice. It would not do to muss his clothes.

Moving at speeds unseen by the human eye, Henry descended the fire escape, body in tow. Upon finding a dumpster a respectable distance away, he deposited the body, taking care to cover it with various debris.

His trash taken out, he turned his attention to dinner.

Usually, Henry would not return to the same hunting grounds after a kill. It made him too memorable, too noticeable. It also bored him. Tonight, he made an exception, not out of recklessness, but out of morbid curiosity. Perhaps that blonde would be there. She could provide some amusement, if nothing else. It had been a long time since a woman had feared him and he wanted to know why she had done so on sight.

It was well enough past opening time when he arrived at the club that the entrance line was gone. Sauntering in, he took stock of the place. The bartenders were different, as the bouncers had been. The club was fairly full, but not full enough to guarantee anonymity. Then again, what was unlife without a little risk?

Henry spotted the blonde from the other night seated at the bar. Smiling to himself he swooped in for the kill. He strode soundlessly over to her, then deliberately stepped behind her, out of her line of sight. Her posture remained alert, but she did not turn. Encouraged, Henry placed a hand around her waist and moved in to nuzzle her neck.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said icily as she turned to glare at him. His hand still lingered at her hip.

Henry's voice dropped an octave as he accessed his vampiric powers of persuasion. "Relax," he growled in her ear. They were eye to eye, cheek to cheek.

"It's not going to work," she snapped. "I'm offended you even tried it."

Henry was taken aback. Would there never be an end to the reminders of Vicki? Over four hundred years of being irresistible and now suddenly in the space of one year, two women were immune to his charms? Maybe he was losing his touch.

Henry realized he was staring and that she was still glaring. Momentarily disoriented, he retreated a step.

She sighed and looked around her as if deliberating. "Why don't we take this outside? We could discuss your reason for being here," she suggested, suddenly civil.

"I'd be delighted," he replied, easily falling back into his role of perfect gentleman. He offered her his hand, which she accepted, and they exited together, looking for all the world like a perfect couple. Henry knew that there would be no seducing tonight. To him, this felt very much like a confrontation between equals, and potential enemies at that. He had no idea what was going on behind her calm but serious visage.

They meandered their way to a park, relatively abandoned at this time of night. The occasional transient and pusher crept into their line of view, but for the most part they were alone. The balmy air felt refreshing after the stifling sauna of the club.

"So you think you know who I am?" prompted Henry.

"I wouldn't dream of being so presumptuous, but I know _what_ you are."

"And what do you think I am?" he said with a smirk.

"You're obviously a vampire. Judging—"

He laughed. "You think I'm a vampire. What gave you that impression?"

"Judging from your little voice trick, I'd say your line is originally from Western Europe."

He laughed again, though this time it seemed a bit forced.

"Who are you?" Memories of another knowledgeable in the lore and identification of vampires came unbidden to his mind. Though they could not been seen, Henry remembered each and every injury Javier had inflicted upon him. The last thing he needed was to be tracked down by a hunter in an unfamiliar city.

"That depends. Who are you?" she countered, voice sharp, knifelike. Henry might have gone so far to say borderline panicked.

"You came out here alone, with a suspected vampire, to talk? Doesn't that seem hypothetically suicidal?"

"You're evading my question. I assumed you wouldn't want the entire club privy to your condition. And it's not as if I'm completely defenseless."

Henry smirked inwardly. She had probably watched too many Buffy episodes and decided that any of the variously ineffective methods would deter him.

"How very thoughtful. Aren't you a little old to believe in ghost stories?"

"You're welcome," she said with a brief smile. She muttered something to herself that even Henry could not hear. "You aren't from around here. I would have noticed."

Henry said nothing, waiting to see where this was going.

"Your accent says Canada, though that seems like a more recent move."

He scoffed even as he internally panicked. "I don't have an accent."

"No, I guess not. The average person wouldn't pick up on it: it's not noticeable in your pronunciation. It's more like a lilt, the way you string your syllables together, how they're flavored. It's different than American English. Never mind. I can't explain it."

She circled him, scrutinizing his attire. He did not turn to keep her in his sights until the very last moment. "If I was a betting woman, I'd say you either spent time in Italy or France or were noble born in your mortal life. Or you're gay," she added as an afterthought. "I'd probably go with noble," she said sizing him up.

"Impressive and totally wrong." He retorted.

"Explain last night, Sharon. She left with you and she wasn't there tonight."

"She wasn't feeling well when she left my place," he said with a straight face.

"You double speaking worm! She is a regular at the club. She doesn't vary her routine. She is dead."

"Are you accusing me of murder?" he said quietly. Dangerously.

"No," she said taken aback. "The rules of humanity only govern those that are human—I thought you would have figured that out by now. You do reek of death. I hope you disposed of her with caution. The police here take unexplained deaths seriously. You would do well to take sustenance from the lesser denizens of the city if you insist on killing your prey."

"I didn't kill her."

She crossed her arms. "And I suppose that's not her blood singing through your veins?"

"No. I don't hear anything," he said as he looked around in an exaggerated caricature of listening. He was tiring of this game. Apparently, so was she.

"If you aren't going to have an honest discussion, I'm finished. Good night. Find me when you're ready to talk." She turned and started to walk away, only to be cut off by the apparition of Henry in front of her. "Definitely of Western European origin," she stated with a self-satisfied grin.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave." He said gripping her wrists. "You know too much."

She did the last thing Henry expected: she laughed. "Don't worry, I can keep secrets. So I was right then?"

"Down to the last detail." He said solemnly, trying to figure out what was so funny, what he was missing. It felt like he had walked into a trap.

Her laughter stopped. "Let go of me," she demanded, eyes flashing dangerously, then softening. She cocked her head. "Surely I can't outrun you?"

He released her, uncertain of why even as he did so.

"So what brings you to Portland? Surely there are more exciting places to go?"

"It's none of your business."

"So it's emotional," she said with a knowing look.

"I didn't say that."

"Exactly. Men rarely do. When they don't say anything, it's definitely emotional, not business. Which means that you probably were not sent here to kill me."

"No," he said. He found it increasingly difficult to keep up with her rapid topic changes and emotional shifts. "Why would I want to kill you? I mean in advance."

"Good, we can be friends," she said, ignoring his comments. You probably are hungry. Can I go hunting with you tonight?" she asked cheerfully. Had anyone ever asked that of him before? Certainly not any mortal. Even Vicki had tread carefully around the subject. He pushed the question from his mind. The sun would be rising soon.

"I'm afraid not. No point in going hunting when prey walks so willingly into my clutches."

She stood there looking absolutely scandalized, surprising Henry by her lack of fear. It was almost like she had not understood his words, but then that was not uncommon with humans. They became so certain of their dominance that they simply could not accept that they, too, could be prey.

"I'm going to have to kill you now—the sun's coming up. I'm sorry, you seem like a nice person, but I've let too many people in on my secrets as it is. The last person I entrusted it to nearly killed me. We can do this a couple of ways. I can drain you dry here or we can go back to my place." His eyes darkened and his fangs sprouted. "Your choice."

She did not seem to have heard a word he had said, or perhaps it simply had not yet registered, for when she spoke it was not to plead.

"You're one of Christina's Chyldren, aren't you?"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against a tree.

"How do you know Christina?"

She giggled. "I don't, but most of her Chyldren have…" to Henry's surprise she slowly moved her hand to his fangs, though he did his best to restrain her, "…these." She tapped them. "Double upper fangs only occur in Christina's line."

"What are you?" he demanded, falling back a pace. Something else that had been nagging at the back of his mind finally registered. "You don't smell human." It was true; away from the potpourri of human scents and the distractions of memory the strangeness of her scent was apparent.

"So you finally noticed!" she said exasperatedly. She glanced up at the sky, just starting to turn pink. "This is a discussion we need to have another time. The sun's almost up." She looked at him with concern. "If you need a place to stay, I've got a dark room not far from here."

She might as well have talked to a ghost. Henry was already gone, leaving only a scent trail behind him.

* * *

**Ninjallerina's Notes:** I know, the dialogue doesn't flow and Henry is a bit more callous than we're used to. He's still not the most stable person, excuse me, vampire, in his post Toronto days. More of that later. Will he return to being the good ol' vamp we know and love? We'll see. Stay tuned.

**Reviews and flames in any and all laugages appreciated! Just make sure they are intelligently composed.**


	7. Chapter 6: Growing Storm

**Ninjallerina's Notes:** I know it's been a while since my last update. I've been doing a lot of rearranging of future chapters and reviewing of Blood Ties episodes. I apologize for the short chapter and promise the next one will be substancially longer.

Thank you for reading. Without an audience, I don't know if I would have the drive to complete the writing portion of the story. I'm thrilled by any and all reviews and welcome critiques.

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Mike made to charge the demon in human flesh, but stopped as the table's occupants stood as one, each pointing their firearm at him.

"Do you really mean to oppose me here, where I am surrounded by allies?"

Sensing the futility of his situation, Mike stood down. He searched the room for humanity, but found none. Crowley's usual ice-hearted stare was replaced by a heartless gaze, strangely devoid of personality. Even Kate's warm and trusting eyes held the same flat, piercing look.

"That's better, human. You notice I am growing stronger. Soon I will be able to summon the rest of me to this side." The chief's wizened body shuddered, then resumed its focus on Mike. "You have no idea, Mike, how much it hurts to have your very existence split in two and separated by dimensions, different levels of reality. Even I have no idea if the pieces will ever fit back together. "

"What do you want from me?" asked Mike, trying to see how his presence fit into Astoroth's plans.

"I need you to deliver Victoria a message from me."

"We're not exactly on speaking terms," he replied carefully, not sure if that piece of information would destroy his usefulness to the demon and therefore any reason to spare his life. Deep in his gut, Mike knew that any message the demon wanted passed to Vicki would be harmful to her.

The chief's body laughed. "Rejection hurts, doesn't it?" Astoroth goaded.

Mike said nothing. The hollow gaze of the board did not waver. Sensing that there was no way out of his current predicament without cooperating, Mike weighed his options. If he agreed, he'd probably get out of this room alive, and more importantly he could warn Vicki of Astoroth's new ability to possess more than one person at a time. She also needed to know that the police force had been infiltrated. But if he did that, he'd undoubtedly be playing into the demon's hands. If he didn't agree to tell her, he had a nasty feeling Astoroth would destroy him on the spot. That would leave Vicki without any advance warning, limiting her chances of destroying him.

The two factions warred within himself. Astoroth's borrowed body arched an eyebrow. Clearly he was not a patient demon.

"What sort of message?" Mike relented.

"Tell Victoria I will be seeing her soon."

With that, the elderly body collapsed.

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End file.
